


Backpeddle

by petercapaldiscoiffure



Series: Emeline Trevelyan [5]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Mostly Fluff, Sexual Content, that line haunts me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 11:48:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3133319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petercapaldiscoiffure/pseuds/petercapaldiscoiffure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Human sweat smells like pork left out in the sun.”</p><p>It takes Iron Bull a while to recover from that one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Backpeddle

**Author's Note:**

> There's a bit of dialogue, where Dorian tells Iron Bull he smells and Iron Bull replies, with, well. Insults about pork. I was traumatized.

_**"H** uman sweat smells like pork left out in the sun."_

It takes him a while to recover from that one.

In one of his less than brilliant moments, what had been an opportunity to make a jab at the Vint had somehow overridden the knowledge that his very human...bed partner, friend, maybe- _kadan_ , whatever she is, was standing not ten feet away. And now, hours later and under the imploring gaze of one partially clothed and very irritated Inquisitor, he realizes exactly how poorly his words were chosen.

It had started off great, of course - the scene was unfolding nicely, she was kneeling sweet as you please, chemise just dropped from her shoulders to pool around her waist and he was taking his usual moment to thank Koslun and Andraste and the Maker himself for her perfect tits when suddenly -

_"Katoh."_

And he stops, of course - he stops as soon as he hears that click of the _k_  on her tongue. He's more than a little confused, however, and wondering where exactly he's gone wrong when her voice pipes up, deliberately casual. He can hear that undertone of annoyance a mile away, though - under the right circumstances she may be one of the most easy-going people he's ever known, but on the rare occasion something ruffles her feathers? She's got all the subtlety of an angry hummingbird. He's just waiting for the divebomb.

"I'm sorry, I was just wondering. Were you being serious? You know, about the sweat thing? Because you've never said anything to me, you know, and I really think I should know if you have some sort of distaste for humans, or our...sweat. Or whatever. Seeing as how I am one. In case you hadn't noticed."

She's doing that thing she does, when she's got a bad hand in cards or she's trying to hide something, speaking a little too fast and a little too clipped. In this case he'd guess she's just trying to hide how much she's actually been mulling the whole thing over since he put his foot in his mouth. And all he can think is -  _well, shit._

"Well, shit," he says.

 _Nice_ , he thinks.

It's not the reply she was hoping for, clearly, and her mouth turns down, her head turns away.

"Well. Hopefully my stench isn't prohibiting you from speaking. I did bathe earlier, you know. We humans have to do that. So as not to attract our porcine brethren, you see. It's a terrible burden, I assure you."

 _Oh, fuck,_  he thinks.  _Can I just tell her her tits are great? That usually makes her smile. Fuck._

"Shit. Boss - _Em_ , I was just ribbing him. You don't smell like anything, for fuck's sake."

She turns her head back and rolls her eyes. " _Everyone_  smells like something. Clearly, to you, humans smell disagreeable. I am a human. Therefore..." And she raises her eyebrows, shrugs her shoulders -  _how stupid do you think I am?_

Iron Bull has a brief moment of bemused realization at the absurdity of the whole situation - the Herald of Andraste, kneeling half naked on the floor, pouting because she's worried she smells like pork and might offend the delicate sensibilities of the qunari mercenary that ties her up and does any number of unspeakable things to her on a regular basis.  _Vashedan, what would the Chantry have to say about that? Blood magic, probably_. He almost starts to laugh, but catches himself - somehow he doesn't think she'd be quite as amused.

Instead he rubs the nape of his neck and sighs, and holding back a wince at the brief but unpleasant ache in his leg, kneels before her. "That's not - alright, humans...have a smell. It's not bad. It can get a little ripe, but shit, so do qunari. And elves, and dwarves. I was just screwing with him. You smell -" _like a meadow in spring? like a candy covered apple? like...freshly crushed coconut? ok, that's clearly horseshit, no one smells like that, get it together, Bull_  - "fine." _Nailed it._

"Oh, well then. That's reassuring, thank you ever so much."

"Oh for - hey, I didn't hear you piping up in my defense when he was telling me I stank."

"Well, you did."

"Nice. Thanks."

Now it's her turn to heave a sigh, and for all his rising annoyance Bull can only congratulate himself on keeping his eye up somewhere northward of where certain parts are moving rather enticingly along with her breath. "Oh, I didn't mean it like  _that_ , honestly - it was beaming down hot sun in the middle of the plains and we'd been fighting for hours. We _all_ smelled, except for Dorian, and that's just because he uses those spells. And anyway you two are always being so dreadfully rude to each other, you can hardly blame me for never knowing if you're actually getting hurt feelings or not."

"Alright, look, my  _feelings_  were not hurt by - wait, spells? What spells?"

"What?" She squints at him before she catches up and waves a dismissive hand. "Oh, some Tevinter thing, they control your bodily functions? Odors, fluids, et cetera. At least, I think. We would never be able to learn them in the Circle - they consider that sort of thing a gateway to blood magic. Of course, they consider papercuts gateways to blood magic." Now she's getting that look in her eye, that far off thing she gets when she's thinking, and better yet, distracted, and he takes a moment to thank every dead Tevinter magister in the North for Dorian's creepy blood magic perfume spells. "Anyway, he's going to teach me, you know I've been horribly curious about it ever since I realized he only ever smells like musk and violet, even covered in troll blood. A little hint of citron, as well, quite dashing. Oh, that's not part of the spell, that's just his cologne. The spell is the bit that inhibits any other, shall we say, offensive odors from coming about." She cocks her head. "He would rather die than smell like pork, I'm sure."

"Yeah, I'm sure," he replies, dry as dust. She rolls her eyes, but the corner of her mouth is quirking upwards just a bit, and he thinks the worst has passed. So he tries his luck and places his hands at her waist, grip loose and gentle, and he feels a little frisson of pleasure at the way her muscles instinctively relax at his touch, even when she's annoyed, the way she leans in just a bit. He lowers his head down to hers, brows almost touching, rubs his thumbs up and down in little circles along the curve of her hips.

"Look, you want to know what you smell like?"

She snorts in that funny little way she has, the way that makes him smile, more a sharp little puff of air than anything else - but she doesn't pull away, so he continues.

"Humans smell like salt - yeah, salt has a smell, don't look at me like that. Not my fault your kind can't pick it up. And the ocean, all brine and saltwater and those little green plants that grow all up and down the shore. It's not bad. It's just...different. Good different."

"I...oh. Really?"

"Yeah. But, uh, don't tell Dorian I said that, though. I want to see just how much perfume he throws on himself tomorrow."

She shakes her head. "You're terrible." She's laughing just a little, though. Soon her slender fingers start to tread their way up his chest and trace the scars there, and he swallows hard when she looks up at him through dark lashes. "What do _I_  smell like, though?" She bites her lips and smiles, tilting her head upward to brush his nose with the tip of her own. "With your superior qunari senses."

And the first word that comes into his head is -  _home_. But that doesn't make any sense, of course - she doesn't smell a damn thing like Par Vollen or even Seheron. She's salt and dust and rose and honey, not heady incense or cinnamon tea and jasmine. So he doesn't say it, but shoos it away with all the other soft thoughts he doesn't like to dwell on. Instead he lowers his mouth to her neck and nips not quite gently, and answers with something just as true, if not as worrisome.  
  
"Those flowers you put in your soaps and oils." He moves to her other side, twins his bite on the taut muscle just along her jaw. "Salt spray. Ink, on your fingers. Fresh dirt, too, sometimes." He eases her back on the floor, splayed and open for him. Then down just beneath her breasts, tongue and teeth in between words and her little gasp making him smile. "Milk and honey, just along here." Blunt nails digging red into her hips while his mouth trails down her stomach. "Hot sun on dry grass - summer sun, not that weak winter crap." Down, down, down and her sudden strangled cry and the grip on his horns has him grinning and his cock twitching. "Sex."

And her responding giggles, swiftly overtaken by low moans and heavy breaths filling the room, tell him that just maybe the crisis has been averted after all.


End file.
